The Wind Before the Dawn Part 29

"How unlike him," Elizabeth said to herself as she watched him go to his wagon.

Silas rode away in an ill-humour with himself.

"Now there I've been an' talked like a lunatic asylum," he meditated. "I allus was that crazy about babies! Here I've gone an' talked spiteful about th' neighbours, an' told things that hadn't ought t' be told. If I'd a talked about that baby, I'd 'a' let 'er see I was plum foolish about it--an' I couldn't think of a blessed thing but th' Hansens."

He rode for a while with a dissatisfied air which gave way to a look of yearning.

"My! How proud a man ought t' be! How little folks knows what they've got t' be thankful for! Now I'll bet 'e just takes it as a matter of course, an' never stops t' think whether other folks is as lucky or not. She don't. She's in such a heaven of delight, she don't care if she has lost 'er purty colour, or jumped into a life that'll make an ol' woman of 'er 'fore she's hardly begun t' be a girl, nor nothin'. She's just livin' in that little un, an' don't even know that can't last long."

There was a long pause, and then he broke out again.

"Think of a man havin' all that, an' not knowin' th' worth of it! Lord! If I'd 'a' had--but there now, Liza Ann wouldn't want me t' mourn over it--not bein' 'er fault exactly. Guess I ought t' be patient; but I would 'a' liked a little feller."

When John came home that night Elizabeth told him of Silas's visit.

"He hardly looked at baby at all," she said disappointedly, "and I'd counted on his cunning ways with it more than anybody's. I thought he'd be real pleased with it, and instead of that, he didn't seem interested in it at all, and sat and stared at me and talked about Sadie. I thought sure he'd want to hold it--he's got such cute ways."

"How could you expect an old fellow like him to care for babies?" John said, smiling at the thought of it. "A man has to experience such things to know what they mean."

He took the child from her arms and sat down to rock it while he waited for the supper to be put on the table.

"Say," he began, "I saw Hepsie setting the sponge for to-morrow's bread as I came through the kitchen. I'll take care of baby, and you go and see about it. The bread hasn't been up to standard since you've been sick.

You'll have to look after things a little closer now that you are up again."

Elizabeth, whose back was not strong, had been sitting on the lounge, and now dropped into a reclining position as she replied:

"The bread has not been bad, John. Aunt Susan was always marvelling at how good it was compared to the usual hired girl's bread."

"It was pretty badly burned last time," John observed dryly.

"That didn't happen in the sponge, dear, and anybody burns the bread sometimes," she returned; "besides that, it makes my back ache to stir things these days."

John Hunter did not reply, but every line of him showed his displeasure.

It was not possible to go on talking about anything else while he was annoyed, and the girl began to feel she was not only lazy but easily irritated about a very small thing. Reflecting that her back would quit hurting if she rested afterward, she arose from the lounge and dragged herself to the kitchen, where she stirred the heavy sponge batter as she was bidden.

Mrs. Hunter was expected to return in a little over a week, and the first days when Elizabeth was able to begin to do small things about the house were spent in getting the house cleaning done and the entire place in order for her coming. It happened that a light frost fell upon Kansas that year weeks before they were accustomed to look for it; and the tomato vines were bitten. It was necessary to can quickly such as could be saved.

In those days all the fruit and vegetables used on Kansas farms were "put up" at home, and Elizabeth, with two, and sometimes more, hired men to cook for, was obliged to have her pantry shelves well stocked. The heat of the great range and the hurry of the extra work flushed the pale face and made deep circles below her eyes, but Elizabeth's pride in her table kept her at her post till the canning was done. By Sat.u.r.day night the tomatoes were all "up," and the carpets upstairs had been beaten and retacked. Mrs.

Hunter's room had been given the most exact care and was immaculate with tidies and pillow-shams, ironed by Elizabeth's own hands, and the chickens to be served on the occasion of her arrival were "cut up" and ready for the frying pan.

Sunday there was a repast fit for a king when John and his mother came from town. Every nerve in Elizabeth's body had been stretched to the limit in the production of that meal. Too tired to eat herself, the young wife sat with her baby in her arms and watched the hungry family devour the faultless repast. She might be tired, but the dinner was a success. The next morning, when the usual rising hour of half-past four o'clock came, it seemed to the weary girl that she could not drag herself up to superintend the getting of the breakfast.

"Mother'll help you with the morning work and you can lie down afterward,"

John a.s.sured her when she expressed a half determination not to rise.

But after breakfast Mrs. Hunter suggested that they scour the tinware, and the three women put in the spare time of the entire morning polishing and rubbing pans and lids. As they worked, Mrs. Hunter discussed tinware, till not even the shininess of the pans upon which they worked could cover the disappointment of the girl that her mother-in-law should have discovered it in such a neglected condition.

"Really, child, it isn't fit to put milk in again till it's in better condition. How did you happen to let it get so dull and rusty?"

"Now, mother, it isn't rusty at all. It is pretty dull, but that's not Hepsie's fault. It was as bright as a pin when I got up, but we've had the tomatoes to put up and the housecleaning to do and it couldn't be helped,"

Elizabeth replied, covering up any share the girl might have had in the matter. She knew the extra work which had fallen on Hepsie's shoulders in those last weeks, and particularly since she herself had been out of bed, for the girl loved Elizabeth and had shielded her by extra steps many times when her own limbs must have ached with weariness.

"You don't mean to say you used the tin pans for any thing as corroding as tomatoes!" Mrs. Hunter exclaimed in astonishment.

"We used everything in sight I think--and then didn't have enough,"

Elizabeth said with a laugh.

"But you should never use your milk pans for anything but milk, dear," the older woman remonstrated. "You know milk takes up everything that comes its way, and typhoid comes from milk oftener than any other source."

"There are no typhoids in tomatoes fresh from the vine," Elizabeth replied testily, and Mrs. Hunter dropped the subject.

But though she dropped the subject she did not let the pans drop till the last one shone like a mirror. With the large number of cows they were milking many receptacles were needed and John had got those pans because they were lighter to handle than the heavy stone crocks used by most farmers' wives. Elizabeth was more appreciative, of those pans than any purchase which had been made for her benefit in all the months she had served as John's housekeeper, but by the time she was through scouring she was ready to throw them at any one who was foolish enough to address her upon housekeeping; besides, she plainly discerned the marks of discontent upon Hepsie's face. Hepsie was a faithful servitor, but she had learned by several years of service to stop before her energies were exhausted. It was the first sign of dissatisfaction she had ever shown, and Elizabeth was concerned.

The next morning Elizabeth's head was one solid, throbbing globe of roar and pain. Mrs. Hunter brought her a dainty breakfast which it was impossible for her to eat, and said with genuine affection:

"We have let you do too much, my dear, and I mean to take some of this burden off of your shoulders. You're not yourself yet. John tells me you were sicker than people usually are at such times. I ought to have helped the girl with that tinware yesterday and sent you to bed."

Elizabeth listened with some alarm to the proposition of Mrs. Hunter taking the house into her own hands, but she was touched by the real sympathy and concern evident.

"It's good of you, mother. You'll have to be careful about Hepsie, though.

You must not call her 'the girl' where she hears you. You see she is one of our old neighbours, and--and--well, they hate to be called that--and they aren't exactly servants."

"Well, I'll get the dinner for her--it's wash day. Don't try to get up,"

Mrs. Hunter said, taking the breakfast away with her.

"Be careful about Hepsie, mother," Elizabeth called after her in an undertone. "She's a good girl, if you understand her and--and they leave you at the drop of a hat."

Hepsie's going came sooner than even Elizabeth had feared. She brought a cup of coffee to her at noon, but avoided conversation and went out at once.

Elizabeth called her mother-in-law to her after dinner was over and cautioned her afresh.

"But I haven't had a word with her that was ill-natured or cross," Mrs.

Hunter protested indignantly.

"I don't suppose you have, mother," the miserable girl replied, puzzled as to how she was to make the older woman understand. "It's--it's a way you have. I saw that she was hurt about that tinware. She's been very satisfactory, really. She takes every step off of me that she can. She's the best in the country--and--and they hang together too. If we lost her, we'd have a hard time getting another."

"Well, it makes me cross to have to work with them as if they were rotten eggs and we were afraid of breaking one, but if I have it to do I suppose I can. I only looked after the clothes to see that she got the streaks out of them. I knew she was mad about something, but I rinsed them myself; I always do that."

After Mrs. Hunter was gone Elizabeth thought the matter over seriously.

Neither Hepsie nor any other girl they could get in that country was going to have her work inspected as if she were a slave. They were free-born American women, ignorant of many things regarding the finer kinds of housekeeping in most instances, but independent from birth and surroundings. In fact, there was a peculiar swagger of independence which bordered upon insolence in most of the homes from which Kansas help must be drawn. Elizabeth knew that their dignity once insulted they could not be held to any contract.

Mrs. Hunter went back to the kitchen and tried to redeem the mistakes she had made, but Hepsie would not be cajoled and the unpleasantness grew.

Sat.u.r.day night the girl came to Elizabeth and said, without looking her in the face at all:

"Jake says, if he can have th' team, he'll take me home. I--I think I won't stay any longer."

"Do you have to go, Hepsie?" Elizabeth said, her face troubled.